


Gnarled

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Daryl is a bamf, Daryl is repressed - Glenn has magic fingers, First Time, Hotness, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Language Kink, M/M, Major Character Injury, Massage, Mild Gore, blowjob, detailed description of injury, scars are metaphors, unexpected intimacy, zombies are actually matchmakers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He'd learned two things during his life that he figured were worth passing on. First, always have a spare clip. And second, to never sass his Momma."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Warnings: This is my fill response to prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink meme: "Daryl/Glenn massage: Daryl's had a really rough day hunting/killing Walkers, what have you and so Glenn offers to give him a back massage. Daryl being Daryl of course doesn't agree right away but Glenn is resistant and damn can he give a good massage. Bonus one: UST. Bonus two: Daryl being Daryl, saying stuff like, "Wanna do my nails next?" and things like that. Glenn just banters back 3 TRES TRES BONUS: Daryl releasing a very moan-y groan of pleasure."
> 
> Authors Note #1: *Rated for: adult language, adult situations, and Daryl generally being Daryl.

He'd learned two things during his life that he figured were worth passing on. First, always have a spare clip. And second, to never sass his Momma. And for a good two decades of his life, those had been the cardinal rules he'd lived by. …Or least variations of them.

After all, each one could be widely applied. In his opinion it was about as inherent as making sure to lock your doors at night or grabbing your wallet and keys before you left the house in the morning.

For example, in his youth, while Merle had been in and out of juvy, he'd taken to doing a few odd jobs for the neighbors. Mowing lawns, roofing, helping with the fall harvest, the usual types of jobs teenage boys tended to take on in backwater farming towns. But mostly, he ended up working for a younger couple about a mile or so past the old Douglas Crossroads.

And despite the fact that Merle had burned those bridges years ago, for some strange reason the Wilson's had taken a liking to him. And pretty soon he found himself walking that four and a half mile stretch every other Saturday morning for a good five years of his life.

He'd been quiet, but respectful as he'd done the work they'd paid him for. A few painted fences here, a fresh root cellar dug out there, even a few weeks helping them out come harvest time. Certainly nothing a lanky, hard-edged twat barely halfway through his teens couldn't handle, that's for damn sure.

It had been his first honest to god paying job, and he'd taken to it like a fish to water. At first it had been a thrill, maybe even an ego trip. Finally finding something he could do better than his older brother. Something that was his and that Merle couldn't mess up for him. But soon enough, it became far more than that, because despite having a whole brood of growing youngins' themselves, the pair had never failed to slip him a piece of cobbler, or a plate of homemade cookies to take home with him when he left. Pockets jingling happily with the few dollars he'd actually made as he pretended not to lean into Mrs. Wilson's affectionate touches and easy words.

Truth was he'd never really done it for the money.

To be honest, it was Mr. Wilson's easy laugh, and his wife's seemingly exhaustible ability to bake in bulk that had him coming back. He'd liked it there, more than that, he'd been happy there. They were normal, friendly, and happy. Everything a real family was supposed to be. Good, warm, right.

Christ. Even now, more than a decade later, the memory was enough to give him pause. It was a feeling that had stuck with him, despite the fact that it sometimes made him feel as though he was stuck in one of those smarmy Lifetime specials on the Women's network.

Mrs. Wilson had always been a smart cookie. Often taking to stopping by with her little ones when his Pa was off god knows where. Talking to him about any number of things until he was too busy trying to stutter his way through her gentle questions that he often didn't realize she'd gone and stocked the refrigerator and put on a load of laundry before she was halfway out the door again. Herding the kids in front of her like the god damned pied piper as she sing-songed a quick good bye over her thin little shoulder.

God, he'd loved that woman.

She'd been the kind of wife any man would have been proud to call their own. Tough as nails and a sassy little thing to boot, but with just enough softness to her that she could have had the meanest, most paranoid sonofabitch in the state all but eating out of her hand in less than five seconds flat.

As for his rule about always bringing a spare clip? Well, that held true to just about anything from car keys to crossbow bolts. Never have more than you need, but always have more than you can use. It was simple really. If Merle had taught him anything, it was to always be prepared for the next round of shit people were gonna fling at you. – And ironically enough, at least in that regard, his brother had rarely been proved wrong.

So sure, he'd stuck to those two rules like flies to a horse's ass.

Only now, he was seriously considering adding minding his own damn business to the list. Because if he had, he wouldn't be having to sit through the feeling of Glenn pressed up along the length of his back. All lean, lithe, and rangy. Forced to breathe in the tang of the kid's sweat slicked skin. And that burnt, acrid scent that was unique to that of raw fear and one too many close calls, a smell that was all but seeping from the kid's blood spattered pores.

But no... He had to go play the god damned hero. Christ. Next time the kid could go and save his own ass for a change. He was gettin' soft. All it had taken was one startled, horror stricken peep from the man and he'd been vaulting over the counter of the store they'd been raiding, ready to take on the fucking world.

Idgit…

Within minutes it had become apparent that they needed to regroup. He'd wanted to get the rest of the shit on the list and head back to camp. But Glenn had been insistent, going disturbingly pale whenever he caught sight of the mangled skin and avoiding his eyes to boot when he'd grabbed the nearest piece of clothing off the rack and tied it around the wound to staunch the worst of the bleeding.

So, considering Glenn's reaction, he'd backed down. Trying to ignore the way his skin had pulled and prickled, coated over in layer after layer of fresh blood as he soaked through the makeshift bandage in less than five minutes flat. Shoulder burning something fierce as they'd collected the rest of the supplies and took off to down the back ally of what he could only guess served as Main Street for this posh little piece of retirement paradise.

They ended up taking shelter in a hastily cleared house on the outskirts of town. Trailing blood and sweat down the debris strewn streets like confetti at a god damn parade. Dodging small groups of walkers, and burnt out car wrecks as they tip-toed through suburbia. Trying not to look to closely at the blood splattered windows and half open front doors that creaked; high pitched with rust and disuse in the soft summer wind.

But despite it all, they'd gotten lucky; too lucky. With practically no stiffs wandering around they'd had time to cover their tracks and pick the house that looked the least suspect. They'd even found a spare key taped to the inside of a drainage cap, half hidden in a snarl of over grown bushes near the front door. – All in all, if the world hadn't gone and ended on them, these people would have been what Merle would'a called 'easy marks.' And honestly, he couldn't disagree.

This was Georgia after all.

In short order they'd raided the cupboards and hit pay dirt. Stumbling over not only a fully stocked medicine cabinet, but a hidden cupboard in the den stuffed to the brim with all manner of fancy liquors and expensive vintages. Whoever had lived here hadn't just had expensive taste; they'd had the pocketbook to back it up. That's for damned sure.

Merle would have shit.

He'd told the kid not to waste the booze. After all, it wasn't everyday a man practically tripped over a bottle of Dalmore 64 Trinitas, and a special edition two-six of Russian Standard.

But hell if Glenn had listened, in fact the kid seemed dead set on ignoring him. It was either that, or he was pissed off. Because a moment later, without even a single word of warning, Glenn unscrewed the cap on the bottle of Vodka and doused the entire left side of his shoulder with the potent liquor. – Oh..

For a long moment he couldn't even breathe, let alone speak. Caught completely off guard by the way his nerve endings suddenly smouldered. Sending searing bolts of pain shooting down the length of his back like cars revving down on a race track. And for a long moment that pain was the only thing there was. There was no air, no light, nothing. Only the fire and the slow crush of a billion and one star bursts until his entire body sang out for the welcoming rush of unconsciousness.

One minute, two, maybe even three past him by unnoticed. But he'd forgotten how to count, deafened but the echoes of his own heart beat as his vision swam. The world paused, shuddered… - And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain ceased, and the world came rushing back.

And he was certain, at least in that moment, that the air had never tasted so sweet.

Later, all he would remember about that moment, save for the blood and the flames, would be the startled quiver of the kid's skin pressing up against his own, and the jittery fingers that had curled around his forearms like that of an apology.

Either way, by the time he'd regained his tongue, he was too busy cursing inventively enough to make a sailor blush to worry about the god damn booze. - Mother fucking Christ, that'd stung!

Still, it just figures that the day he'd find himself in the possession of both would also coincide with the day he managed to snag the back of his left shoulder across a jut of exposed piping and start bleeding like a stuck pig. - Even he had to admit that he'd gotten himself pretty damn good. Hell, he'd known right away that the stitches couldn't wait. And despite looking a bit green, the kid hadn't wasted any time either. Pausing only to double check their temporary digs and spread their first aid kit across the house's large dining room table. Bandages and thread at the ready.

He'd downright refused to waste the Dalmore. That shit was sixty four years old, and one of only three bottles in the entire world according to what he'd heard Merle yack on about. By all accounts it was probably about as rare to see in this world as pigs were to fly. The Vodka was better for wounds anyway, no other crap in it to hinder its use as a disinfectant.

Either way, you really couldn't go wrong with a bottle of eighty proof.

The pinch-pull-tug of the suture pick pierced pointedly into his arm as the younger man neared the halfway mark. The rhythm turning harsh and decidedly chilly as a heavy silence stretched out between them. But save for a raised eyebrow, he refused to even so much as look at the kid. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he'd noticed.

He could take care of himself for Christ sakes. He didn't need a fuckin' nursemaid.

But hell if he could figure out why he wasn't doing anything to stop it. Even he didn't have answers for the hundred and one reasons why he didn't just pull away and suffer the kid's glares while he patched his own self up.

The way the kid was tending to him was a whole other can of worms. Because even he had to admit that the passive aggressive force behind the way the man was dabbing at the wound was just a bit too hard to be considered friendly. Even for someone like him who was more than used to the rough and tumble treatment.

Oh, for fucks sakes, now what did he do?

The mere thought made raw anger and frustration burble in his gut. The kid was mad at him? What the hell? And for what? Saving his miserable hide?

Lord… And people called women complicated?


	2. Chapter 2

He ran a hand across his face, more frustrated than disgusted when his fingers came back clammy and smeared with red. He'd really done a number on himself this time. That was for damn sure…

He was about to reach over and wipe his hand on the stack of cloth napkins that were still arranged on a serving tray on the other side of the table when he was brought up short. His grit encrusted lashes fluttering once, then twice, as his eyes caught on a row of pictures set up along the window sill across the room. Metal frames glinting invitingly as they reflected in the low, afternoon sun.

And for a long moment, he found that he couldn't look away. Drawn in by a long series of pictures that seemed to represent a life lived in stills. From beginning to end he took it all in. There were happy grins and sly smiles, milestone moments, and pictures that could have only been taken at the spur of the moment. He saw mud pie contests and playground flirtation. A badly lit high school prom, and a wedding. He saw a first car, a first child, a trip to the Grand Canyon, and the births of a second, a third, and then finally a fourth. He caught the first steps of a favorite grandchild, and the choice moments from four different weddings strung out between the intervening decades. He saw bad fashions and even worse hairstyles. A thirty year wedding anniversary, a best friends wedding, and trip to Europe. He watched an entire family grow up and get old. And yet, despite the years and the wrinkles, the laughter and smiles had always remained the same.

Shit.

He swallowed his sneer and wiped his hands on his jeans instead, ignoring the gritty fabric as he let the filthy material soak up the blood and sweat without a word of compliant. - They'd intruded here enough as it was.

For a long moment they remained silent. Growing all too aware of each other the longer they allowed the silence to drag. Each of them trapped in their own thoughts as firmly as a snarl of birds tangled in a wire cage. Hung up on bruised egos and wounded pride as they slowly let the reality of their situation sink in.

He let his chin dip into his chest, pointedly refusing to look anywhere else but his lap. Not trusting himself to say something he might regret or inadvertently incite the kid into feeling like he had to run off at the mouth about something or other.

Christ, he didn't like this. He didn't like this one fucking bit.

Because he could hear every breath the kid sucked in. All too aware of the way the younger man's chest would shudder, and then expand. Pressing feather light across the span of his back before he finally exhaled. He felt all of it. The way the man breathed out in that soft, unhurried rush of air. All forced calm and pitched with nerves as it ghosted across the vulnerable curves of his neck. And how the kid's breaths had slowly begun to mirror the rhythm of his stitches, matching the way the pick pierced through his skin and drew the thread down with it as he tied off yet another line of stitches.

He'd given up counting at ten.

Instead he made himself focus on the floor, watching idly as the odd droplet of blood blossomed across the pale blue carpeting. Trying not to think too hard about the previous inhabitants of the house they'd invaded. A home that still smelled wholesome and good, just like it 'oughta. Seemingly untouched by the death and destruction that had wrecked the entirety of the small town they'd been in the process of raiding.

It was almost as if the people who had lived here had simply locked up and left. Their departure remarkably absent of any of the usual signs of panic or blood shed. In fact, the only sign that indicated that the house had been left in the middle of an otherwise normal day was the untouched pot of coffee mouldering on the burner in the kitchen. And the worn, murder mystery that had been left open on the breakfast bar. The lone stool pushed back in a way that made him think that whoever had been sitting there had gotten to their feet far too quickly.

He wondered if they had been one of the lucky ones. Having figured out what was going on long before the crush. Before the crowded freeways and ten mile pile ups. And made it safely to whatever haven they'd been heading towards. He wondered if they had-…

He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind as he tensed up on reflex. Feeling a might foolish for the places his mind had wandered as Glenn worked busily behind him. Not failing to notice that the harsh dig of the suture pick was growing noticeably gentler the longer the silence was left to stand. Almost as if the kid could sense the nature of his troubled thoughts through mere touch alone.

But that wasn't the point, at least not really. The point was that it didn't do well to dwell on what was said and done. It was an offense to the living just as much as it was a useless gesture to the dead. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything they could do about it now anyway. They had their own god damned problems to worry about.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he looked up and caught sight of his reflection in the china cabinet set up directly across from their makeshift triage station. And in spite of himself, he winced. Christ, he looked like crap.

Unimpressed, he simply glared at his reflection. Watching first hand as a baleful frown swept across his filthy features. He was dirty, sweaty, bloody, and bruised to shit, and the kid didn't look much better. In fact it was hard to figure out which of them looked worse. Him with his wound, or Glenn with his t-shirt stained up to the fucking armpits with sweat, blood, and brain matter. His coal black hair plastered flat to his skull in the heat and humidity, and face seemingly permanently crunched up in a look that he could only guess was concentration.

All in all they looked like one of those poorly lit, gang violence advertisements the government used to run around election season. "Help us clean up our streets" or whatever the fuck they were trying to 'fix' this time.

Jesus, they were a mess.

He shook his head. Eyes burning with the unexpected sting of sweat as his body seized in a sudden flinch. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek in an effort to stay silent as the suture pick slipped and pierced through his skin. - But even then, he barely had time to register the sensation before his senses were overwhelmed by the feeling of Glenn molding himself into him. Murmuring soft apologies into the curve of his shoulder as he leaned in, pausing for a long moment to wipe his hands on one of the towels they'd managed to pilfer before he resumed stitching.

Christ..

He didn't even think twice about it as he snagged the bottle of Russian Standard and took a healthy swig. Letting the hard liquor work its magic as he shook himself out his self made stupor and passed it back to Glenn so that he could do the same. Not even bothering to hold back a knowing smirk as Glenn spluttered around his own mouthful. - Anything to take his attention away from the growing tremble that was working its way up his limbs. Senses shorting out like forked electrical sockets and faulty wiring as the younger man all but draped himself across his back.

All in all the kid wasn't half bad. But in this case, he doubted anything short of an expert would be able to put the jut of his shoulder back together unscathed. Because he could tell by the way that Glenn was stitchin' that this one was going to scar up something fierce. If he was being honest, he should have been tending to it himself. Maybe that way he'd be able to fix the worst of the damage and save himself from a gnarled up knot of scar tissue when it finally healed.

He should have, but he didn't…

In a way he'd always been proud of his scars. Simply seeing them for what they were, the milestones and merit badges of a life lived both fully and freely. Nothing more, and nothing less. Only now, for some rather discomforting reason, all he could really think about was how the mottled, scar-littered canvas of his callous-roughened skin must look like in comparison.

He shook his head, entirely ignoring Glenn's displeased grumble as he carefully pulled yet another stitch firm against his skin. How a dude could look so god damned pretty he had no idea. It was either that or maybe the vodka was stronger than he'd thought. By this point it was getting rather hard to tell.

It wasn't until Glenn had fastened a tensor bandage around the wound, securing the ends with a couple of butterfly clips that he figured he could finally relax. There was just something about the kid's skin brushing against his that had him on edge. It was doing something strange to his insides, like he had wood ticks jumping around in his gut, or acid eating away at him from the inside.

Hell, the sensation alone had him all but crawling up the god damned walls.

All he wanted to do was to shoulder their supplies, and get a fucking move on. But apparently the kid didn't get the god damned memo. Because before he could even so much as open his mouth to protest, the kid was leaning in. Blunt nails tracing the muscled flair of his undamaged shoulder like an inadvertent caress.

He nearly bit off his own god damned tongue.

"You're tense," The kid remarked, tone hesitant but growingly determined as his fingers spidered across the surface of his blood-slicked skin.

He made a noncommittal grunt at the observation. Fixing the kid with a questioning glare as he moved his shoulder experimentally, making sure that the tensor didn't hinder too much of his movement before he called the job complete. After all, it wouldn't do to be caught out in the open, struggling to reload his bow in the middle of an attack, because of a shoddy bandaging job, now would it?

"Your muscles," Glenn repeated. Slowing his words like his outburst had been obvious, as the kid prodded at the flat of his shoulder with his index finger.

"How would you know?" he retorted, slowly trying to inch his way off the bench before the kid got wise and stilled him with the small of his hand.

"My mom was a masseuse back in Korea," Glenn replied, tugging at the straps of his blood encrusted shirt as he stretched the ruined material down the length of his back in preparation for god only knows what.

A smart retort rose to his lips. But he forgot what he was going to say somewhere in between nearly choking on his god damned tongue and forgetting how to breathe, as Glenn's hands curled around his shoulders and squeezed. - And for a long moment he couldn't even characterize the sensation. Pain, pleasure, it didn't even matter. Because whatever it was, it was enough make his muscles seize in place. Forcing him to gnaw on the inside of his cheek in order to keep quiet as his abused muscles began to throb.

Fucking ow! …He swore the kid did that on purpose...

"You gunna do my nails next Asia?" he grunted, cursing himself as his voice dipped low. Tensing in response as Glenn's nails raked half moon furrows down the length of his prickling skin. Conscious thought filtering out of his mind like water from a sieve as his brain wavered, uncomfortable and confused as the kid ignored him and dug right in.

"Nah… A chemical peel first, I think. Your pores could use a good scrub out. Followed by a deep tissue massage and maybe a bikini wax if you're still feeling feisty," Glenn shot back. Not missing a beat as he worked his fingers around a particularly sore patch of muscle. Not letting up until he had him groaning in pain. …Or at least he told himself it was pain.

"Chemical peel, deep tissue, bikini-what now?" he hissed, lips twitching in grudging amusement as Glenn laid into him, getting all sassy and shit. The kid had some serious spunk, he'd give 'im that.

"Seriously man, how are you even still standing straight? This has got to ache like a son of a bitch," Glenn grimaced, pressing in close as he slapped his hands against the dip of his shoulder in an effort to get the muscles to relax. Thumbs working in soft, pressurized circles as the kid quickly sussed out a bunch of areas he hadn't even realized were aching in the first place.

Now that he mentioned it, he had been a bit...sore lately. - Say what you want about cushy suburban living, but he'd kill for a chance to sleep in a real bed for a change.

It took him a while, but after a long and rather hesitant moment he leaned into the press. Rolling his uninjured shoulder pointedly as Glenn's fingers skimmed low, wordlessly indicating where he wanted the kid to focus on next.

"See? Told ya' you needed this," Glenn chuckled, strong hands sinking into the hard knots of his shoulders and back almost effortlessly. Following the hard ridges of uneven scar tissue and abused muscle as the kid worked him over relentlessly.

He raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, content to let the kid think whatever he wanted so long as he kept doing… ah!…That.

To be honest it felt…good, a little too good actually… - Christ, he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this. He'd always been of the opinion that there was something special about a woman laying her hands on him like this. Hell, he'd lived for those casual one night stands and leggy summer flings that had been gifted with those soft, eager little hands that were just right for getting at all those sensitive, hard to reach places.

But in all fairness, the talents of his past exploits didn't hold a candle to this. Hell, at this point he reckoned nothing ever could…

He held back a half-pleasured hiss, caught somewhere in between pain and the former as Glenn continued his ministrations. His fingers sharp and relentless as they sought out every sore muscle, every abused patch of skin, and deep seeded hurt. Leaving nothing untouched or unexplored as the younger pressed flush against him, hands never stopping their gentle, spiraling movements as slowly, the gnarled knots and abused muscles began to give way. And despite his better judgement, for a while he got lost in it. Lost in the feeling of smooth hands rasping against his skin, and in the way pain gradually gave way to pleasure.

He was still idling in that lazy place that existed somewhere in between pain and pleasure, when Glenn's fingers sunk into an unexpectedly sensitive spot between his shoulder and neck that had him seeing stars. And just like that he was fucking gone.

He moaned. He couldn't help it. Back curving in response, as the sound echoed in his ears. Coming out throaty and embarrassingly wanton as the sensation sent a bolt of electricity coursing down his spine. - Oh..

The impending sweetness of release splintered through his nerve endings like he was five seconds away from just exploding out of his own god damned skin. Libido overriding that of his conscience as his body made it perfectly clear that it was set to ride the slow waves of pleasure that the man was unknowingly providin' all the way down to the god damned station…

Fuck, this was good… He hadn't realized it could be like this. He hadn't- …Mmmm…


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't know how much time had passed before he caught himself nodding off. Chin tipping down into his chest once, and then twice, as soothing thumbs skated across the surface of his sweat slicked skin. Rubbing delicately across the sensitive nerves and abused muscles without pause. Either oblivious or uncaring of the way he jolted forward in barely muted alarm.

He didn't know what had roused him. Whether it was survival, instinct, adrenaline, or a fluke chance; but he supposed that in the end it really didn't matter. The damage had already been done. He'd nearly fallen asleep with the kid's hands on him. Unconscious and vulnerable in an unfamiliar house in the middle of bum fuck suburbia. Smack dab in the center of a walker infested town nearly eight miles from where they'd made camp.

Christ! What the fuck was the matter with him!

He didn't even bother holding back the angry, self disgusted noise that issued from his throat. The sound echoing out embarrassingly loud in the forced quiet as Glenn's hands dipped low. Skirting around the hollowed jut of his right hip before streaking up to work on the joint that marked where his shoulder met his arm. Finding a jumbled knot of muscle and diving right in.

Holding onto his composure by the skin of his teeth, he flinched. Eyes slitting in pain, anger, and discomfort as he fought against the natural urge to pull away and nurse his wounds in private. Unwilling to expose anymore of himself then he already had to the kid's judging eyes.

But if anything, Glenn only doubled his efforts. Pulse thudding through his chest until it was reverberating up his spine, insistent and completely insatiable as the kid worked him over. It was a something visceral, a sensation that flowed through the kid's fingers and into his skin. - A rhythmic tangle of tentative touches and the sharp press of nails that molded into his skin until all he could feel was the pleasure of it. Until he was nearly drowning amidst the tenuous simmer, as a thousand and one nerve endings crackled to life underneath his beat up skin. Spreading through him until the sensation was coursing up his spine and unfurling behind his closed lids, exploding into his consciousness like firecrackers for the soul.

And all the while Glenn just hummed, letting go of a slow, syrupy sound that rumbled up from the base of his throat in a confounding mess of base sounds and comforting pitches. It was a strange sound that existed somewhere in between a melody and purr. And weirdly enough, it put him at ease without even tryin'. Soothing him in a way he neither recognized nor rightly understood.

He shrugged his shoulders. Taking a quick pull from the bottle of vodka as the potent liquor hit him like a sucker punch to the jewels. Refusing to let himself relax on pure principal as he took another careless sip. Because it wasn't comforting. It was either that, or he wasn't letting it. He wasn't sure exactly sure which he was going with anymore. - Far too caught up in the way the kid could make him throb inside his own skin to think straight.

"..So what, your momma taught you how to do this then, kid?" he finally grunted. Breaking the silence like a dull knife slicing through a freshly exposed hamstring; suddenly, and with remarkably little finesse.

"Uhuh…" Glenn replied distractedly, cussing out a stream of foreign gibberish as talented fingers dug determinedly into a particularly stubborn knot of muscle.

"'Aint that kinda strange?" he managed, desperate for some sort of distraction as the kid began laying into him in earnest. Swallowing hard as the man's fingers started ghosting up and down his sides. Working him over until he was twitching in place, muscles smouldering at the abuse as the kid gave him no quarter.

"You mean stranger than the world ending because of a virus that turns people into undead cannibals?" Glenn shot back lightly, voice lilting with amusement as the man focused his attentions on delicately massaging the muscles that laid just south of his wound.

The kid had a point there, he'd give him that..

"This would work a whole lot better if we had some oil." Glenn remarked a few moments later, the comment offhand enough to startle him back to awareness as the younger man plucked somewhat mournfully at one of the limp straps of his dull grey wife beater. Heat prickling down the length of his chest and beyond as the full connotations of the man's statement sent his brain reeling.

Oh god…

Did the kid even think about some of the shit that came flying out of his god damned mouth? Or was he just bound and determined to give him a fucking heart attack? ...Shit.

He swallowed roughly, mind screeching for a strategic retreat as he shifted in growing discomfort. Cock pressing painfully against the crease of his filthy jeans as his imagination quickly began to fill in the gaps. Brain traitorously supplying every dirty thought, half-hearted wish, and partially remembered pull out from one of Merle's old skin magazines in vivid, living color until it was all he could see swimming around in his minds eye.

But the moment he knew he was really done for was when Glenn cursed in Korean, grunting and putting his back into it as he wriggled enticingly into the small of his back. The catch of his jeans raking across his naked skin as the kid muttered under his breath. Breaths growing labored and hitched with exertion as they skimmed tantalizingly across his sweat slicked scalp, the younger man apparently doing his best to break him as he hit a particularly stubborn patch of muscle.

Because all else considered, he couldn't help but think that he was pretty sure this reminded him of a porno he'd seen once…

Well, fuck…


	4. Chapter 4

Somewhat predictably, by the time the kid had reached his lower back he was so hard he could have pounded nails. Twitching and wrigglin' in his seat with restless arousal until he felt like Merle coming down from a week long coke bender only a day before his next court hearing.

He was still wracking his brains, desperately trying to find a way out of his current predicament with his dignity still attached when Glenn suddenly shifted. Coming around to face him without even a word of warning, catching him off guard and completely unprepared as the younger man leaned right in.

Because before he could even so much as squawk in surprise, the kid was nearly straddling him, balancing on his tiptoes in order to reach a jumble of particularly sensitive muscles that crowned the base of his neck and chest. And just like that, before he could even so much open his mouth to warn him off, it was all over. There was no way the kid hadn't noticed.

He closed his eyes, tasting raw iron and the bitterness of partially corroded metal as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. - Life just wasn't fucking fair sometimes.

"Daryl what is tha-.. oh.."

He was up and moving like a shot. Face burning underneath the smudged layer of sweat and grime as he busied himself with shoving the bottles and first aid supplies back into their packs. Batting the kid away and forcing himself to ignore the dull burn as the aching muscles in his wounded shoulder bunched and released. Shoulder screaming bloody murder as he snatched up the bottle of Russian Standard and shoved it into his backpack.

He gnawed on his lower lip, holding back a pained hiss as he shook off the worst of it. Wound throbbing in time with his pulse as he swallowed thickly. Skin still haunted by the ghost of the man's hands, as Glenn fought to get his attention.

"No, wait! Daryl..I-"

The kid was babbling now, but hell if he was listening. He didn't want to hear it. Instead, he readied himself to leave, biting his lip at the way his cock strained against the hard line of his jeans, still throbbing hotly as he turned away. Letting his fingers curl around the stock of his crossbow as he resoundly cursed both himself and his traitorous cock as he zipped up his pack and slung it over his uninjured shoulder.

"Daryl.."

He was four steps away from the table before Glenn streaked across the length of the room and blocked his way. Almost faster than he could blink, the kid was suddenly just there. Standing far too close and crowding him back towards the chair he'd been sitting in as Glenn slowly but surely boxed him into a corner.

He fell more than sat as the back of his legs hit the lip of the dining room chair, nearly sprawling across the length of the table itself as his pack hit the floor with a muted clank. Hip clipping the corner of the table as he collapsed into the chair. But barely noticing the fallout as the action sent supplies and bloodied rags crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of bent suture picks and used bandages.

"Daryl, it's okay! I-"

It wasn't. Hell, how could it be? The kid had only been tryin' to do him a favor, maybe even trying to make good on him getting injured saving his life and all. And what did he give the kid in return? …An up close and personal view of his Johnson? Christ.

But Glenn just wouldn't fuckin' quit, getting all up in his businesses as he advanced on him. Face twisting in an expression he didn't recognize as he reached out, laying a single, maddening hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth almost unconsciously, like he didn't even mind at all.

He looked away, purposely not meeting the kid's eyes as his vision blurred. Momentarily blinded by the way the sun was glinting off the photographs on the sill. Painting the walls with prism shattered rainbows and impossible bursts of color that was rapidly mixing with the acrid burn of a feverish sweat that was slowly trickling down from his hairline. Burning as it went.

It was all over. Whatever they'd had, if they'd had anything at all, was gone. He was sure of it. Whatever fledgling feelings or good opinions the kid might have harbored for him were sure to have evaporated the moment the kid had discovered him.

He had no idea where to go from here, and the last thing he wanted was pity. Hell, he'd gank himself right then and there if he caught even so much as a hint of that PR bullshit, "its okay to be different" stare on the kid's face. Or even the opening lines of some well meaning lecture on the effects that adrenaline and post apocalyptic situations had on the male libido.

"Jaegil, jom bwa! Try to understand, Daryl… Would you just- Ya, geuman! Igeoseun geokjeong anhaedo dwae… It's alright, okay? I wasn't being fair… Igeon geunyang… I just wanted to show you that I-"

A frustrated noise issued from the man's throat as words appeared to fail him. It wasn't like he was paying attention or nothing; it was more like the kid's flailing and yelling in Korean was pretty damn hard to miss. But either way, it gave him the opportunity he'd been looking for. Because before Glenn could even so much as blink, he lurched up from his chair, looming over the younger man despite their closeness. Figuring he could at least intimidate the kid into temporarily forgetting about this entire cluster fuck of a situation long enough to get them on their way and back to where the others had set up camp.

But just when he figured he had him at an impasse, the kid went and did it. Dark brown eyes meeting his as the man stood his ground and leaned in, letting his hand trail down the length of his chest all the way down to the waist band. The action soothing, yet achingly deliberate as eager nails raked gently down his skin.

He sucked in a breath and choked on it. Body and brain freezing in place as the air stalled above their heads. And like a sucker punch to the gut, all the air he'd been holding back left his lungs in a single progressive rush. Evaporating into thin air as the kid looked up at him from behind the dark fan of his criminally long lashes, lips slack and spit slick as he panted hotly against the crown of his chest.

…Oh.

And for a long moment all he could really think about was that this felt like a terribly inconvenient moment to been having an epiphany. But at the same time, he really couldn't care less.

A punch of heat curled low in his guts, behind his balls, and sharp against the base of his spine as he shifted. Matching Glenn's movements and leaning in himself as the man's hands wrapped around his shoulders. Pushing him down, back towards the chair until he had no choice but to sit. Cock aching something fierce as he hissed in response to the growing pressure. The sensation leading him to spread his legs out to the sides, mindless of how it must look as the kid pressed right in.

Glenn wanted this? He wanted to- …Oh Christ…

He wasn't exactly sure what the kid had in mind until he sunk down to his knees in front of him. Sneaker soles rasping across the blood smudged carpeting as Glenn settled himself in between his spread legs without even a moments hesitation. - And for a long, rather worrisome moment he was halfway certain that his brain had just shorted out.

Fucking Christ…

Sweat slicked the back of his neck as a burst of heat coursed down his skin. He stared, and the kid just stared right back, waiting. He swallowed thickly, chair creaking at his back as he slumped against it. Tongue tracing the curve of his lower lip as he foundered like a fish out of water, nearly choking on his own god damned spit as he struggled to drag air back into his oxygen-starved lungs.

"Yeah…" He murmured. Words slurring as he tasted each and every syllable that slipped from between his red-bitten lips. Tongue thick in his mouth as he finally reached out, letting a few crooked, callous-roughened fingers trail along the curve of the younger man's cheek. Heat rising up from his gut as Glenn leaned into the press, letting him know the answer to everything he didn't know how to ask in that single, almost instinctive little gesture.

"Christ.. Yeah kid, com'on.." he urged, throat aching as he gasped for air. Finding himself utterly unable to catch his breath as his chest rose and fell, pulse thudding frantically. Caught up in a sudden sense of urgency he could neither figure nor define.

He didn't know if it was arousal, the situation, or the fact that he just wasn't good at this kind of shit. At the stuff that really mattered, like emotions and feelings. Because he didn't know what the kid wanted to hear. Hell, he didn't even know what the younger man even wanted. Or if that want might still exist after all was said and done. - But then again, maybe all his worrying about the future wasn't really the point of the matter at all.

Either way Glenn didn't seem to need anymore encouragement then that. Because suddenly those talented hands were trembling as they curled around the waistband of his jeans. Awkwardly jerking down his zipper and parting his fly as the kid's head dipped greedily into his navel, smooth skin rubbing across the hard jut of his hips and the scarred expanse of his belly before sliding inexorably downwards.

The kid's hands were inquisitive, wanton, inexperienced, but undeniably eager as they fell across his skin. Curious and exploratory as they owned the expanse of him, tracing the circumference of every scar, sussing out every far flung freckle, and partially faded bruise. In fact, it was almost as though the man was trying to learn him from the outside in. Mapping him out with bold fingers and the occasional, flighty press of what he swore could have been the man's lips ghosting across his flesh.

It was hard to tell, especially considering the fact that he had his eyes slitted. Not trusting himself to finish before the fun had even started as Glenn continued on his mission to drive him absolutely mental with nothing more then his fuckin' fingers.

By the time the younger man hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers he was already flying two sheets to the wind. Conscious mind blown right out the fucking window as he started thrusting up into empty air, hips rolling, desperate for any source of stimulation as a flood of half formed curses and shoddy endearments slipped from his lips without censure.

Pre-cum dewed the tip of his cock as he bit down his lower lip. Prick throbbing, high and proud as Glenn's hands inched a few tantalizing inches closer. – Fuck! He was going to kill that kid when this was over. Kill him dead for baiting him like this.

And as if he sensed his thoughts, Glenn only chuckled in response. Dark eyes smouldering as he thumbed the tip almost experimentally, smearing the thick dollop of pearly liquid clear across the head in retaliation. And after that he was too stuck on the hot press of the man's hand curling around his length to care about anything else.

"Geogjeongma, naega dolbwajulge." Glenn hummed, lips quirking when he only groaned in response. Letting his head slump back against the wall with a hollow thud as the man began to make good on all his teasing. Because somewhat predictably the man's words only made it ten times worse. Because he'd be god damned if there wasn't something… alluring about the kid nattering on at him in Korean.

He clenched his fists at his sides. He had no idea what to do with his hands, but it seemed as though Glenn did. Because without missing a beat he grabbed his hands and placed them firmly on his shoulders, even going so far as to give him an encouraging hum when he ran a hand through the kid's hair on reflex.

But when the kid wrapped his mouth around him, he hadn't even hesitated. He'd just dug his fingers in Glenn's hair and hung on. Because just-fuck…

He tipped his head back, boneless. Hitching his hips in time with the way the kid was sucking. It was slippery, sloppy, enthusiastic, and just the smallest bit of desperate that the whole thing had him nearly ten seconds away from completely embarrassing himself.

…Lord, it'd been way too long since he'd been tended to like this. And he'd wanted this, him, for far too long to be able to make this last. He was going to have to-…

But the moment he knew he was really done for, was when the kid seemed to hit his stride. Sucking him down like a pro as his tongue swirled around from base to head. One hand sneaking down to massage his sack with a suspiciously slick thumb and forefinger the same time as Glenn let the head of his cock slip down the back of his throat.

There were words. He knew that much at least, words that were slipping from his lips like molasses trickling around the rim of a jar. But when he strings them together, he realizes that he doesn't have any consonant sounds to make. Just low, whining conflations of pleading tones and pulsing syllables he hopes to Christ that the kid can decode by now. He knows it's pathetic, but he just doesn't care. Because this was too much, and it was too good, and he was going to have to-oh!

"Ki-…Glenn… Glenn, I'm gonna.. I'm gonna-fuck!"

That was all he managed to get out before he suddenly froze, hips slamming up into the kid's hot little grip as he spurted right down the length of that eager throat. Greedy muscles milking him dry as his vision faded off into static.

When he came back to himself he was still panting, splayed out on the chair like an exhausted, fifty dollar whore on a busy Friday night. And funnily enough, he wasn't the only one. Because Glenn was still resting his face against his naked thigh, flushed, sweaty, panting, and lips still shining from where he'd licked them clean only seconds before.

His head was buzzing pleasantly, still riding the lingering waves of pleasure when he reached down, hooking the kid up by the armpits as he nibbled a lazy stripe down the curve of the kid's neck. Hand's gradually wandering south with the intention of returning the favor as Glenn leaned into the curve of his lips with sluggish interest, cheek brushing against his skin as he turned into the curve of his chest.

But when his fingers hooked around the man's belt loops, Glenn just shook his head. Twisting in place and squirming around a bit as he rearranged himself so that he was leaning against the bruised, cut up expanse of his naked calves, cheeks flushing as he grinned sheepishly, and pointed down at the spreading wet spot that was slowly seeping through his blood stained jeans.

He blinked. Realization hitting home with all the subtly of a god damned freight train. Oh. …Oh.

The kid had come in his fucking pants.

Christ on a crutch that was hot…

He'd never really understood the concept of the so called 'afterglow.' He'd always been either raring to go for another round, or itching to get on with other things after he and some sweet southern thing had gotten their happy ending. There was only so many hours in the day after all. But now, hell, he couldn't imagine doing anything else but just sitting here, skin to skin with the kid as they simply enjoyed the moment.

Because weirdly enough, as fucked up as it might have sounded, he couldn't help but feel as though everything had suddenly come full circle.

He cocked his head as he took the kid in, eyes lingering as he looked him over from head to toe. Tongue peeking out to wet his lips as the moment stretched, comfortable and easy this time, as he played with the taste of raw copper and the mineral rich tang of fresh crimson as it seeped down from where he'd bitten through his lower lip only a few minutes before.

Fuck, that'd been good..

Eventually, Glenn caught him at it. Only this time, heat simmered deep in his belly as he watched his eyes sharpen in response, blown pupils watching his every move as he ran a hand through his sweat slicked hair. - Curious to see what the kid would do, he remained where he was. Jeans and boxer briefs still splayed around his ankles, his bare thighs spit slick and bruised from the kid's over eager fingers as his dick twitched hopefully amidst his short tangle of honey brown curls.

Glenn just grinned.

It was sometime later, much later in fact, as they rode the ass-end of the sunset out of town and angled their feet back towards camp that he decided that his new rule about minding his own business was rather overrated.

The kid gave good massages after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> *Jaegil, jom bwa!: "Damn it, look!"
> 
> *Ya, geuman!: "Hey, stop!"
> 
> *Igeon geunyang…: "It's just…"
> 
> *Igeoseun geokjeong anhaedo dwae: "Don't worry about it."
> 
> * Igeon geunyang: "It's just.."
> 
> *Geogjeongma, naega dolbwajulge: "Don't worry; I'll take care of you."

**Author's Note:**

> Reference: Dalmore 64 Trinitas is a 64 year old single malt whiskey. It is a unique blend of multiple rare stocks of matured liquor. It is one of only three in existence today. The last bottle is available for public purchase at 100,000 euros starting price. (Yes really.)
> 
> "Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh." – Leonard Cohen


End file.
